Lost Art of Mystery

Having purged a few items of furniture and household stuff, it was time to move on to the closet. So many unworn items of clothing and quite a few shoes which had never seen the light of day, or even a night out. A massive mound was piled up on the bed, with shoes lined up like little soldiers on the rug. Ruthlessly, I sorted, took photos and made listings of various dresses, jeans, work clothes, coats, never-worn undergarments and shoes. As soon as I uploaded the listings, my phone started to ping with notifications non-stop.

The bundle of 7 bras listed as “Lucky 7” set off alerts immediately. An eager potential buyer, “Wreckingball75”, urgently messaged for same day pick up. A corner liquor store parking lot, conveniently located just off the freeway exit was designated as the drop off spot. Cash only.

Feeling generous, I added a few random items to the bag, and headed out later that afternoon. As the sun beat down relentlessly, perspiration formed under my mask, fogging up my glasses. Concrete sidewalks and asphalt amplified the heat ten fold. As I turned the corner into the simmering parking lot, I saw a short middle aged heavyset man leaning against a bright red truck, drinking a soda. Wearing a dusty construction worker’s outfit complete with a tool belt, work boots and hat, he raised his hand in the air and wildly motioned me over. I waved and awkwardly headed in his direction. As I got closer, he eagerly reached out with a handful of crumpled dollar bills and I gave him the small bag. Due to our language barrier, we communicated using gestures. He counted the 7 bras, excitedly noticing the extras before stuffing them back inside. Next, he pulled out a cell phone, stepped towards me, and held it a few inches from my masked face. I squinted against the bright summer sun to see the screen which showed a screenshot of a hot pink thong taken from an Amazon retail page. Frantically, he shouted out, “Tanga! Tanga, tanga, tanga?” I shook my head, confused. More agitated, he pointed to the image on the phone and shoved it towards me, demanding to know “tienes tanga!” I tried my awkward muffled Spanish and told him, “No, lo siento, Senior. Io non tengo tanga. Senior, no tengo tanga. Lo siento senior!” He angrily stuffed the phone into his pocket, turned around, climbed into his pickup truck in a huff and took off at high speed onto the freeway ramp. I unrolled the damp dollar bills, and walked into the liquor store to buy a couple of lotto tickets. The automatic door opened, and as I entered, I was greeted by a refreshing blast of cool air laden with the heavy scent of incense. I sighed with relief as I thought to myself, maybe this will be my lucky day.